


In A Moment

by zerodawn22



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, Fleurmione Week 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:00:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26345260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zerodawn22/pseuds/zerodawn22
Summary: Hermione always put off any real attempt at mending the bridges between her and Fleur after a teenage fling was curtailed.Day 6 for FleurmioneWeek2020 - Soul mates
Relationships: Fleur Delacour/Hermione Granger
Comments: 13
Kudos: 107
Collections: Fleurmione Week 2020





	In A Moment

Soul mate.

That was what Fleur Delacour had called her all those years ago.

Innocent years. Sun-glazed.

Curious touches and furtive looks.

Kisses so filled with the type of passion that seems to make your head spin.

The sheer memory made Hermione Granger shiver with a warm feeling that tickled the base of her stomach.

But she was an adult now. Or at least felt like it. Her youth carved out of her with the blade of a poisoned knife.

She had no time for such memories.

Memories of pushing a stunned blonde away from her. Shocked to the core by words that carried such weight.

Soul mate.

Words that had seemed too heavy, too real, when she was fifteen and only just beginning to blossom into her sexuality.

Words that had begun to ache as the war set in.

But there are some actions you cannot take back.

Fleur Delacour. Platinum blonde and with features so fine she seemed to be carved out of ice. Fleur Delacour, who kept walls carefully built around herself.

Walls that had been fortified in the years since Hermione had pushed her.

Those walls mocked Hermione now. All she could think about were those delicate long fingers playing at her chestnut curls. The soft full lips pressed against her own. A soft, wet tongue pressing at her lip, coaxing her to open.

Soul mate.

Hermione hadn’t believed it. Still didn’t, really.

How could one’s bloodline really identify such a thing? How could people really be bound in such a way?

Hermione had always needed certainty, logic.

 _But then…_ A curious voice sounded in the back of her mind, _You never used to believe in magic, either._

Soul mate or not, Hermione had made a mistake.

Soul mate or not, Hermione needed Fleur like she needed the very air in her lungs. The years since pushing the blonde away had done nothing to stifle the ache in her chest.

If Hermione were really, truly, honest, she had never quite felt complete since that year at Hogwarts.

Awkward fumbling in broom closets. Embarrassing lovebites she couldn’t explain away. The pure discomfort of discovering just how far another woman could spike a frustration within her. All the things that had previously bothered Hermione, she now held close as cherished memories.

There was a rush of air past Hermione’s ear so loud it broke her train of thought.

Of course she couldn’t even clear the matter from her mind in the middle of a battle. It haunted her in her waking moments. It haunted her in her sleep. Battle should be no different.

Hermione threw a _stupefy_ at a Death Eater, moving quickly.

The Battle of Hogwarts almost seemed to slow at this moment.

Hermione weaved through witches and wizards, caught in a flurry of spells. Fighting for their lives. Fighting for what they believed in.

But Hermione could barely see it now.

All she could see was Fleur.

The platinum blonde of her hair was silvery in its quality as it fluttered in the wind. Fleur Delacour was the heir to the prestigious Delacour clan. She came from nobility and Veela. You could see it in the fluid elegance of her moves. Even fighting in this bloody, savage battle, she moved almost as if she were engaged in a dance.

Fleur had told Hermione they were connected.

She could feel it.

Her Veela heritage had called to her after a number of their frenzied teenaged kisses. Hermione was her mate, Fleur had said back then. She could feel it, and one day Hermione would feel it.

Hermione wondered what Fleur had felt when she said that. What she had felt to make her make such a definitive statement.

Hermione wondered if, in the years that Fleur had carefully built up her walls, Fleur still felt that connection today.

Hermione had tried, of course, to talk to Fleur after she had rejected her so abruptly following the soul mate conversation. But where Hermione was ruled by reason and logic, Fleur was ruled by different gods.

Fleur expressed herself passionately and felt everything deeply. Including the sting of rejection.

Hermione’s fumbled attempts at talking to her about the mundane had done little to temper Fleur’s hurt and anger.

Fleur had distanced herself further.

Whatever Hermione had tried to do had always made it worse somehow.

Hermione stunned another Death Eater.

She had been hurt, of course. When Fleur had never come back to her. Of course, Hermione had never bothered to attempt a conversation of any substance in her attempts to pull Fleur back to her. Always avoiding the subject that had made her react so suddenly in the first place.

Hermione had been fifteen. She hadn’t wanted to deal with something as heavy as soul mates.

Then she had been sixteen. Fleur had carefully skirted the edges of every room she was in. Never quite close enough to talk or touch.

Now Hermione was seventeen.

She didn’t care about soul mates.

She just wanted Fleur.

To talk to her. To hold her. To listen to her velvety voice speak of everything and nothing in her pretty French accent.

Hermione moved closer.

She’d always meant to talk to her about the soul mate incident. To explain that she hadn’t meant to reject Fleur or her feelings. She’d just reacted so strongly to a concept she had never encountered. To not knowing.

Of course, she’d never found the words.

And there was always something else pressing. The Mad-Eye Moody Imposter. Sirius’ death. Horcruxes.

Another day, another moment.

She would talk to Fleur and make things right. She was so close to that moment now. But it still wasn’t quite right.

Hermione was a mere five paces away from Fleur now. She could see the light of the setting sun casting shadows on her features. She was so beautiful it hurt.

A particularly loud explosion finally turned Hermione’s head.

The Entrance Hall of Hogwarts had burst, chunks of stone and debris scattering across the grounds like some kind of sick confetti.

Hermione turned her head back to what she sought.

Her breath caught in her throat as her eyes locked with azure blue. Her heart quivered.

And then in a flash of green… The moment was gone.

Hermione fell to her knees. Her chest was burning. Agony pushed its way through her very veins as she struggled to breathe. 

Was she screaming?

It hurt too much to tell.

Silvery blonde blanketed the stone in front of Hermione. Azure eyes stared at the sky, unseeing.

Hermione couldn’t move. She was immobilised by pain. It felt like someone were trying to wrench her heart out of her chest with clawed hands.

Later, when Hermione awoke in St Mungo’s, long after the end of the Battle, Ron would tell her that she had passed out from the pain.

The Mediwizards had run every test they could on her, but for the life of them, couldn’t tell what spell had afflicted her.

Hermione stared at the ceiling.

Pain still coursed through her body, centering in her chest.

Her mind turned over the sunny days by the Black Lake. Her fingers twitched at the memory of silky hair.

There was a stronger pang in her chest.

Soul mates.

Hermione believed in them now.


End file.
